One day, on a fabulous day in a very special housing unit, I was passing out breakfast to inmates. At the very first cell I stop at, there are two Hispanic men. One is standing near the door and the other is lying in bed.
I open the trap door and place two breakfast trays inside. The inmate standing close to the door is saying something to me. I can't hear him well. But he is trying to give one tray back.
He squats down and looks at me through the trap. I am not hearing him clearly. His English is not great and neither is my Spanish. Finally I get it. His cell mate is sick and gets a liquid diet. I look up. Sure enough, it says right on the door.
I lean over a bit to tell him that I will go get the special food and be back. I want to be sure he understands and hears me. Inmates get very upset when they don't get food.
That's when I see what he is doing.
The inmate is squatting down, penis in hand, masturbating. I yell. I slam the door. I ask him what the hell he was thinking.
He says... “No habla.”